Bound
by MaybeBaby1280
Summary: House wakes up in the middle of the night to find that he has been bound to the headboard.  Cameron assaults his senses and has her wicked way with him.


House jolts awake because when he tries to roll over, he is unable to move. He fights off a brief moment of panic to perform an assessment of the situation: hands stretched out above his head, wrists bound with some sort of silky material, eyes covered snugly with a strip of the same fabric. He is still naked from their lovemaking session a few hours ago. The air in the room is warm and smells like sex.

He tugs at the material wrapped around his wrists; Cameron has done a surprisingly thorough job of making sure the knots won't come loose. He wonders why he is alone in their bed. Why she has taken such care to put him in this situation and then left him. He thinks that she's likely sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, barely breathing lest he hear her, watching his reaction. It turns him on to know that he is the current object of her rapt focus, and he feels himself getting hard.

Minutes go by and still she hasn't made her presence known. House simply lies there, no longer resisting his bindings. Instead, he takes notice of how his other senses have become more acute in the absence of sight. He fingers the silk that secures him to the sturdy, dark oak headboard: a necktie. His skin glides over the threads smoothly. The room smells of sex, but also of her. He turns his head to bury his nose into her pillow and inhale her scent. Fresh, clean, delicate, and uniquely Cameron. Never floral or sickly sweet. Again, he listens for her. Tries to detect any hint that she is there with him. A sigh, the rustle of fabric as she adjusts her position in the chair, anything. He hears nothing but the puff of his own breath, but he knows she is there. He is always able to sense her presence.

He grows impatient. This is an exciting little game she has set up, but he's eager for it to begin in earnest. He shifts his weight on the bed, stretches his neck out in an attempt to dislodge the blindfold, licks his lips in anticipation. The urge to say her name, to call her to him, is overwhelming. He resists, but just barely.

He is squirming now. He almost resents her for reducing him to this state of neediness. Almost.

And then he does hear her. Her skin brushing against the upholstery of the armchair as she rises, her bare feet padding across the bedroom. The mattress dips as she rests her weight on it at the foot of the bed. His toes touch her knee and he savors the skin on skin contact, as insubstantial as it may be. But she pulls back.

Cameron is moving over him now. He can feel the warmth radiating from her hands. She starts at his ankles and moves upwards, open palms hovering millimeters above his skin but never touching him. It would be so easy for him to arch upwards and make contact, but that's not what this is about.

Up his calves, over his thighs, skirting around the one place where he so desperately craves her touch. He is swollen to full size now and aches for her. But she continues her journey, leaving a wake of tingling heat in her path. Hands linger low on his belly, glance around his navel, drift across his chest. She takes his rapid breathing into account and raises and lowers her hands in time with the expanding and contracting of his lungs.

Her fingers are poised above his lips now. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and he can almost taste her. The heat from her skin warms his own, and he wants to draw her finger into his mouth. He is panting. Needy. Craving her.

Finally she touches him: her hand on his chest as she lowers her mouth to his ear. She exhales softly with just a hint of a sigh, and he thinks he could come just from listening to her make that sound. She's kissing him now, blazing a path from his ear to his mouth, and he tilts his head towards her to hasten the meeting of their lips.

She tastes somehow familiar and foreign at the same time. He recognizes the fruitiness of her lip gloss and the tingle of her mint toothpaste. But there is something else there, too. Maybe it's the novelty of the situation. Maybe he's never paid enough attention to detect this one subtle component of her kisses. Maybe, with his senses stripped bare and his nerves raw, he is finally able to truly taste her very essence.

Their kiss is urgent, almost pornographic. Tongues meet before lips do. Cameron presses her body against his, and he loves the feel of her naked breasts on his chest. But it is short lived. Again, she pulls away from him, and he is left hanging in mid-kiss, his head still raised off the pillow and his lips still parted.

He groans in frustration. He wants to touch her, more than he has ever wanted it before. He wants to know if she is as turned on as he is. If the evidence of her arousal is dripping down her thighs. He wants to taste her muskiness and make her come in his mouth.

A sharp tug at his bindings provides no give. He tries to hook his leg around her knee to pull her back to him, but she evades him. She is nimble, and suddenly she is kneeling between his thighs, pushing his legs apart with a firm touch.

He can't tell where her head is. He knows where he wants it to be, though, and he silently wills her to give him what he needs. His chest hairs tickle when her long tresses gently graze his skin, and the sensation moves downward. So close now.

She bows her head between his thighs and parts her lips just inches above his erection. He is astonishingly hard and overly sensitive, and every breath she exhales on his skin is exquisite torture. He is anticipating her next move.

Slowly, methodically, she licks him, just the tip of her tongue on the tip of his cock. He sucks in a lungful of air with a hiss. And then nothing. No blissfully warm and wet tongue, no heavy exhales against his hot skin, not even the tickle of her hair. She is toying with him.

Seconds pass and she still doesn't touch him. He has moved beyond frustration and is now not above begging. The word "please" gets caught in his throat just as her delicate hand wraps around the base of his shaft and she takes him into her mouth fully.

A choked moan escapes his lips as she begins working him slowly and thoroughly. Her tongue swirls around the head of his cock, licks the sensitive underside, flicks against him repeatedly. She is bobbing her head up and down, taking him in all the way to the back of her throat before pulling back, creating a delicious suction. Her fingers are gripping him firmly, applying pressure in all the right places.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips. He always has to have some part of her in his mouth when they fuck: her tongue, her nipples, her clit. He feels bereft without that sensation. She knows this. Her fingers are suddenly at his lips, demanding entrance. They are coated with her juices, and he laps at them hungrily. It's a taste he can never get enough of.

He is so close. She picks up the pace with her movements. She is watching for the signs of his impending climax. Waiting for the crucial moment. Her hand leaves his mouth, dips down to cup his balls, and they are tight in her palm. She squeezes gently and he moans loudly. He can't hold out any longer.

She releases him from her mouth but continues pumping her hand on his shaft. In one swift movement, she reaches up, straining to span his long body. She tugs on his blindfold and it falls to the pillow. He blinks his eyes. Once. Twice. Her face comes into focus in the soft glow of the nightlight. He meets her intense blue stare as he pants under her ministrations.

"House. Come for me."

It's the first thing she's said to him since he woke up, and her voice is husky with desire.

Her head immediately drops back down and he is watching now. The imagery is incredibly graphic. His cock disappears into her mouth. Her full, pouty lips wrap around him. With just one or two flicks of her tongue, he is coming inside her mouth with a guttural groan.

He allows himself to thrust his hips against her as he spills into her. He watches, unblinking, as she swallows, and the sight of this prolongs his orgasm. Finally, his head drops back onto the pillow and he struggles to normalize his breathing.

She crawls up his body and unties the knots on the neckties that bind his wrists. His arms immediately wrap around her, pull her body tightly against his. Her head is tucked underneath his chin, and for the millionth time he marvels at how perfectly they fit together.

As he holds her, one of the neckties catches his eye. He lifts it off the pillow to inspect it. It is expensive but ugly. A Christmas gift from Wilson. He makes a mental note to give his friend an extremely belated but entirely sincere thank you the next time they see each other.

_Author's Note: My undying gratitude to bonorattle: my beta, my inspiration, my muse. Don't ever stop planting those deliciously naughty ideas in my mind!_


End file.
